


The Trouble With Mages

by hyperborean



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Fenris POV, Fluff, Gen, Gift Fic, No Continuity, Randomness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:25:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperborean/pseuds/hyperborean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trouble arrives in a small package from Ferelden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble With Mages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Northern_Star](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/gifts).



> Sorry it's a little late, but Merry Christmas!! <3

The trouble had started two days ago. We had hardly stepped foot into Kirkwall - muscles aching, clothes caked in sand and dried blood from the upsurge of bandits that we had been attempting to suppress along the Wounded Coast - when a messenger approached with ‘urgent’ business. A delivery had arrived from the Queen of Ferelden; A delivery for Anders, of all people.

Despite Hawke’s inexplicable predilection towards the mage, I had always known our association with Anders could only bring misfortune. What arrived from Ferelden on that fateful day was an abhorrence I was not prepared for: a mangy, mewling ball of orange fluff named Ser Pounce-a-lot. 

The mage’s voice had risen three octaves upon seeing this furball, and had yet to return to normal. Two days had passed, and the unsightly fawning had yet to cease. Even now, in the dark of night, laid out on our bedrolls after another long day of bandit slaying, I could hear the sweet nothings being whispered to the meowing feline. It was enough to drive one mad. 

“Would you quit pandering to that damned beast?” I growled, unable to hold my tongue any longer. 

The bedroll next to mine finally went silent for a moment, but not nearly long enough to satiate my longing for peace. 

“Just because you lack the ability to love, it doesn’t mean the rest of us should go without,” came the icy response. 

I did nothing to repress my snort of disbelief. “And what do abominations know of love?” 

“More than you could ever imagine,” Anders said, and though I had expected to hear a fight in his voice, I only heard exhaustion. 

The rustle of his robes as he turned away signified an end to our brief exchange, and I was at last permitted to revel in the calmness of the night. Or so I thought.

I don’t know how long I had been asleep when weight on my chest started me back to wakefulness. My hand had just reached my sword as I looked down to meet the glittering gaze of Ser Pounce-a-lot. My fingers twitched around the hilt as I considered my options, our eyes never breaking contact.

And then the fluffball began to rattle, a deep, primal rumble that I could both hear and feel reverberating in my own chest. I released the sword and just stared, unsure of what to do, knowing I couldn’t risk waking Anders.

And the longer I laid there, eye to eye with the feline, the less unpleasant the whole situation seemed. The cat was a warmth against the cold night air, his purrs oddly… comforting. I found myself drifting back to sleep, my fingers wandering to stroke his surprisingly soft fur. 

The last thought I had before sleep claimed me was that, despite the danger he posed, maybe Anders was on to something here.


End file.
